for death.  Please collect the money for which I enclose an order, and out of it, take the amount you spent when mother died.  It will comfort me to know, that we do not owe a stranger for the casket that shuts her away from all grief, into the blessed Land of Peace.  Keep the remainder, and when you hear that I am dead, unjustly offered up an innocent victim to appease justice, that must have somebody’s blood in expiation, then take my body and mother’s and have us laid side by side in the Potter’s field.  The law will crush my body, but it is pure and free from every crime, and it will be worthy still to touch my mother’s in a common grave.  Oh, Doctor!  Does it not seem that some terrible curse has pursued me; and that the three hundred dollars I toiled and prayed for, was kept back ten days too late to save me?  My Christmas card will at least bury us decently—­away from the world that trampled me down.  Do not doubt my innocence, and it will comfort me to feel that he who closed my mother’s eyes, believes that her unfortunate child is guiltless and unstained.  In life, and in death, ever

“Most gratefully your debtor,

“Beryl Brentano.”

A few moments of profound silence ensued:  then Doctor Grantlin handed some article to Mr. Dunbar, and stepping down from the stand, walked toward the prisoner.

She had covered her face with her hands, while he gave his testimony:  striving to hide the anguish that his presence revived.  He placed his hand on her shoulder, and whispered brokenly: 

“My child, I know you are innocent.  Would to God I could help you to prove it to these people!”

The terrible strain gave way suddenly, her proud head was laid against his arm, and suppressed emotion shook her, as a December storm smites and bows some shivering weed.

CHAPTER XIX.

Friday, the fifth and last day of the trial, was ushered in by a tempest of wind and rain, that drove the blinding sheets of sleet against the court-house windows with the insistence of an icy flail; while now and then with spasmodic bursts of fury the gale heightened, rattled the sash, moaned hysterically, like invisible fiends tearing at the obstacles that barred entrance.  So dense was the gloom pervading the court-room, that every gas jet was burning at ten o’clock, when Mr. Dunbar rose and took a position close to the jury-box.  The gray pallor of his sternly set face increased his resemblance to a statue of the Julian type, and he looked rigid as granite, as he turned his brilliant eyes full of blue fire upon the grave, upturned countenances of the twelve umpires: